As My Waist Gets Bigger, My Brain Gets Smaller

This morning Critter asked for Waff-Waffs (waffles) with peanut butter for breakfast. I got the peanut butter out of the pantry and a plate from the cabinet.

I then went over to the pantry and searched in vain for waffles. I pulled out peanut butter, pop tarts, chips, 15 pounds of hidden candy, canned goods, and a bottle of vinegar.

"Ugh!" I screeched after about 5 minutes of fruitless searching. "Where are the damn waff waffs?!?"

From behind me a little voice piped up "Damn waff waffs in refrigerator, Mama."

I Only Use My Broom For Flying

Does it make me a genius or a slacker that I've decided it's way better to dump Smudge's and Critter's left over nugget remains on the floor and let Siesta Bumpass lick them up instead of lugging out the broom and dust pan?

Things I've Learned This Week

1. Catahoula Hog Dogs (state dog of Louisiana, y'all) have a mad taste for dirty diapers, and can extract them from a locked Rubbermaid trash box on the porch like I just threw it out the flipping door.

2. When a Halloween party in the fancy pants neighborhood is "by invitation only" it won't make a crap bit of difference if you don't have your invitation because you locked your house key and your phone in the house. Even if your husband is playing bartender, you have 3 screaming kids under 2 years old on your hip, and you beg the minion of Satan at the door just to let you in so you can get the last remaining key from Hubsters and go home. Butt munches.

3. A 5 star welded-to-the-dang-door gate won't keep a 26 month old and a 13 month old in an 800 square foot playroom full of 30,000 bucks worth of toys if they know Mama is trying to pee in private in the bathroom down the hall.

4. 15 pounds of spit up on newborn clothes will immediately mold in the wash if you don't take them out before the buzzer stops alarming.

5. Trying to take 3 kids under 26 months trick or treating would drive anyone insane. Even if that anyone has 5 (!) other adults along to help.

6. There aren't enough wine boxes on the planet to make up for a night consisting of 7 minutes of sleep.

7. If someone could make up a Diet Coke IV, they'd be a fricking millionaire.

Doesn't everyone know paint has fiber?

I took all 3 babies to a paint your own pottery place today. It's become tradition to take each baby to make a birthday plate on their first birthday. It's also tradition to have a hand print and foot print plate made when each baby is a couple weeks old.

Since Moose was still in the NICU on his 2 week birthday he didn't get plate made until I took Smudge for his birthday one today.

Smudge got his prints done first and then we did Moose's. As the employee was finishing up helping paint Moose's hands and stamp them, Smudge made a bee line for a very precarious looking stack of sushi platters. I dumped Moose in his bucket and rescued my wallet from at least 200 bucks of "they break it, you buy it" dish ware.

I returned to find a now sleeping Moose with tan paint covering his lips and a tiny tan colored thumb stuck in the corner of his mouth.

Horrified, I yelped "Moose Goose! Paint is not for eating!" The pottery employee looked over and calmly said "At least paint has fiber! I mean, it's gritty like fiber. Well, at least the bottle says it's non toxic!"

This new information helped to greatly ease my mind as I spent the next 10 minutes trying to gently pick what is probably Chinese manufactured, lead based paint from Moose's little lips.

I love being a B-list celebrity!

Today was my first day all alone with all 3 babies. I decided that it would be a fabulous idea to take all three babies to Target. In the pouring rain.

My first encounter with celebrit-dumb was in the parking lot. I barely had Critter and Smudge in the cart before I noticed a couple (the wife very preggo) standing behind their SUV staring at me. As I pulled Moose out of the back seat the couple began hyperventilating and pointing in my direction. As I dropped Moose's bucket seat down the husband yelled across a dozen spaces "How far apart are your kids?!"

"These two are 13 months apart. These two are ten months apart." I considered explaining that Smudge and Moose were supposed to be about 11 and a half months apart before Moose made his early appearance, but I was soaking wet and in a hurry to be inside.

"Cool!" Hubby screamed. "We have a 4 year old and an 18 month old and we thought we had it bad!"

Um, thanks?

I nodded and smiled and turned to wheel the boys through the doors. As I did so a little blue haired lady stopped in the cross walk and pointed me out to her friend. "Are they ALL hers?" I heard her mock whisper. I would have tried to listen to the friend's answer, but there was an open mouthed guy holding the door open for me. Apparently I was such a novelty he didn't register the fact that it was an automatic door.

From there it only got better. Cashiers, managers, shoppers, and small children stopped mid aisle to point, nudge their co-shoppers, and just plain gawk.

At first I was embarassed. I attempted to push the cart with my left hand over my face so that A) I wouldn't be recognized and B) the onlookers would see that I am, in fact, married and not just the teen mom the PICU nurses pegged me for when Moose was first hospitalized.

But, then, I thought, "Meh, this IS kinda cool!" I decided to play it up. I went to the pharmacy section and made a huge production out of picking out condoms. "Ya think this'll work?" I asked the high school guy pretending not to see me. I then turned on the cute blonde girl studying the contraceptive film. "Don't use that!" I instructed sternly. I pointed to Smudge, "That's what I was using the night I conceived this one!" She turned a funny green color and stumbled away.

I then ventured over to the diaper section. Nothing like terrifying new Mamas to make a slightly older Mama feel better, right? "Those leak. Bad." I told the woman comparing Pampers to Huggies. "Get Luvs. They are way cheaper and don't leave a wet spot in the crib." She, at least, seemed grateful for my expertise.

As I was patrolling the Fisher Price lane looking for my next victim a nice lady scooted up to me. "Hey, did you leave your keys over in the Pharmacy?" she asked in the kindest tone. I looked down into the diaper bag and saw no keys. "Maybe..." I ventured, getting ready to start searching all over the cart. "I found them!" She excitedly informed me. "I turned them into Customer Service!"

"Thanks" I wailed, the new mama/post partum hormones taking over. I turned to head to the front of the store. "Wait!" I called as I turned back around. "How in the world did you know I was the one who lost the keys??"

"You are the most frazzled looking person I've seen here. I just figured it was you" she answered.

Cool. I really am Lindsey Lohan. So much for my conceit.

Why are men so hard?

No pun intended, you Dirty Mind People!

Wait, that's me, too.

Any way...

David and I are currently in an argument about the silliest thing: iPhone or Droid?

I want an iPhone because I'm stubborn as all get out and I love my iTouch. David wants me to get a Droid for many SOLID reasons. It's cheaper from the start (we already have Verizon so there is no activation fee, we are eligible for a new phone discount), it's cheaper per month (unlimited data plan, my main callers are on Verizon so I have free mobile to mobile calling), the 3G network is better with Verizon.

Simple, right?

Not so much. Because this is a win-lose situation. There is no compromise. It's one or the other. I want one, he wants another. And David is the King of Compromise. He doesn't want to tick me off. And I want what I want.

A nice wife would just go with the better (read: Verizon) choice. But I'm not nice. I'm stubborn and selfish and impatient. If he would simply put that size 14 foot down, the argument would be over. I'm a size 6. I couldn't win.

Yet, I'm being a pain in the tookus anyway. Why? Because it's late, I'm stressed, and, well, let's face it, I can.

If he were to come out here right this second and say "Droid or nothing!" I already know my choice. Heck, if he were to come out here and say "Anne, make the call!" I still wouldn't hesitate. So why am I being stubborn? Oh, yeah. Because it's late. I'm stresed. And, yep, because I can.

I'm such a silly child. And David is a compassionate person. So who will win? Odds are, it'll be me. And then he will be resentful and I'll be guilty.

Maybe it's a lose-lose situation.

I'm just... d.o.n.e. with not having the final say. Every time I tell the nurses/doctors at the hospital what I want done with Moose they pat me on the head and do what they want anyway. I truly realize I'm only making things worse by arguing over this phone thing, but, dang it! I want to WIN something. Anything. I want to put my smaller than average hoof down and have someone say "Ok. What you want goes!"

Plus, I love those iPhone apps.

Bouncing is what Tiggers do best!

Earlier tonight I was writing a post to a Mama's Group I am fortunate (and unfortunately) a part of. We are all mothers who were to have babies in May of 2008. We didn't have those babies, but now we have one another.

In the aftermath of writing a "woe is me" post in our group forum, about Moose still being hospitalized and Critter and Smudge being without me most of every day, I realized just how lucky I really am.

Though I struggled, and still do, with my initial loss, I gained so much. If it weren't for Oscar, I wouldn't have the support group I do now. I wouldn't have Critter, Smudge, or Moose. If everything in my life hadn't played out exactly how it did, I wouldn't have the life that I have right this moment. And my life at this moment is pretty flipping awesome.

I have babies born 13 months and 10 months apart. How many Mamas can say that?

I have a group of friends who know where I'm coming from. They validate me and challenge me and chat with me when my country is asleep.

As stressful as these last few weeks have been, I know me, and I know that one day I'm going to look back and wish I were here again.

I want to hold on to each second of every day. There is a chance that I'll never again be this burdened or this blessed.